Purple Rain
by falafel-fiction
Summary: AU future fic. Charlie survived the Looking Glass mission and all the Lostees were rescued from the island. A year later Desmond and Charlie have seperated from Penny and Claire and are in a relationship together, but they are still haunted by the flashes


**Purple Rain**

**Summary**: AU future fic in which Charlie survived the Looking Glass mission and all the Lostees were rescued from the island by Penny's team. A year later Desmond and Charlie have seperated from Penny and Claire and are in a relationship together, but they are still dealing with the aftereffects of their flashes ordeal.

**Characters/Pairing:** Desmond/Charlie, mentions of Penny and Claire.

**Rating:** NC-17

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Lost.

**Beta**: All my thanks to the slashtastic **zelda_zee**

**Author's Note:** This is my Desmond/Charlie anniversary fic. I haven't written a story with my old OTP for a year now. This is my first time slashing them (what took me so long?) and much credit must go to Pick Me Back Up Again verse by **toestastegood** for inspiring me to write the Desmond/Charlie relationship with a D/s slant. This fic has made me very nostalgic and reflective.

* * *

"Hey Des. You had any flashes?"

Charlie was standing on Desmond's doorstep, his travel bag in hand and his guitar case slung over his shoulder. Desmond hadn't had the chance to say hello or ask about his trip before Charlie spoke his customary greeting.

"No brother," Desmond assured him. "Nothing."

Desmond took the bags out of Charlie's hands and pulled him into a hug, before ushering him inside the house. They glanced towards the calendar in the hall. It had been a year this month since their escape from the Looking Glass and their subsequent rescue from the island. After all that time Charlie still asked Desmond about his flashes. To this day they still feared they might come back.

"There's tea brewing in the pot," said Desmond. "Two sugars, yeah?"

Charlie nodded, flopping down on the sofa. He didn't seem too jetlagged. Desmond supposed he must be getting used to the long flights by now. Charlie lived his life between Australia and Scotland these days, travelling the world every month on the gold pass given to him by Oceanic Airlines. When Desmond returned with the tea, Charlie was already spreading out photos on the table; new pictures of Aaron and Megan. Desmond smiled. The kids were growing up fast.

Charlie had spent the last few weeks visiting his brother Liam and Claire at their homes in Sydney. Charlie was living there too for a brief time after the rescue until he and Claire had decided to call it quits. From what Desmond understood it had been an amicable separation. Claire didn't want a relationship just now; she was happy being a single mum and felt that she and Charlie were better off as friends. Yes, they were still good friends. While Claire didn't return Charlie's affections, she wouldn't ask him to retract his love for Aaron. She still wanted Charlie to be a part of her son's life after all he had done for them. He could still pass along his ring.

Desmond exhaled. As he finished perusing the photographs, he lifted his head to find Charlie staring at him intently, raising an eyebrow.

"You not breaking out the whisky, Des?" he asked pointedly, tapping his watch. "It's getting close to midevening, you know..."

Desmond sighed. "No brother, I finally took your advice. I've been sober for close on month now. You were right, pal. It's certainly been helping my studies along. I need to keep myself focused. I need to stay _in control_."

Charlie beamed at him, raised his tea mug.

"Happy Anniversary, Dessy."

Desmond drank to the toast. Since their return to civilisation, he had been making efforts to complete his medical training and become a doctor. Charlie, now resolutely clean and teetotal, had lectured him to curtail his drinking habits if he was planning to take a career in the health industry. Desmond had been hitting the bottle pretty hard a few months ago...following his break up with Penny...

_Penny_. She was beginning to feel as distant to Desmond now as she had on the island. Desmond knew there would always be a part of him that loved her, that ached to be with her again. But it could never be reconciled with the part of him that felt he wasn't the right man for her. Penny was still his golden princess from afar. Desmond winced when he touched her with his peasant hands. He would have stayed with her out of gratitude alone, but Penny was wise enough to realise such a marriage would never satisfy or last. She really did deserve better.

The cracks between him and Penny had only grown wider when Charlie had moved back to Britain and they had started attending his solo shows. That was when Penny had first sensed it. She didn't know the exact nature of this connection that Desmond and Charlie shared (how could they even begin to explain?) but she had felt their unspoken intimacy. She caught the nervy apprehension that buzzed between them. She noticed Desmond's restless preoccupation with Charlie's safety which manifested in so many twitchy controlling behaviours that his friend strangely seemed to tolerate. Charlie couldn't cross the street without Desmond gripping his arm and assessing the traffic. Desmond would threaten to start fights with any strangers who he imagined were looking at Charlie in an aggressive manner. At first Penny said she had interpreted it as a brotherly protectiveness intensified by their ordeals on the island. But slowly she came to realise it was something more. Penny knew there was some issue they needed to resolve; an old wound that needed to breathe, feelings they needed to express. She knew they couldn't do these things while she was there.

After Penny had confronted Desmond about her observations and suspicions he had protested to her that he wasn't gay. He insisted that she was imagining things; she was misinterpreting the friendship between him and Charlie. Penny had rolled her eyes and told him if it wasn't love then it was something just as needful. She told Desmond he better figure out what it was.

Desmond had asked Penny if they might try again after he had settled this thing with Charlie. But Penny couldn't wait for him any longer. She needed to move back to her home in London and carry on with her life. She didn't want to grow bitter over this. Penny told Desmond she still considered him to be a good man; she thought Charlie was a sweet guy and she would never regret the time she had invested in rescuing them from the island. But she needed her own closure now.

Desmond shuffled on the sofa. Charlie had fallen silent and his eyes were boring into him now; his stare filled with a yearning that only Desmond could understand and only Desmond could ease. They might be finished with drink and drugs, but they still needed something stronger than tea.

They needed their own kind of fix.

* * *

It began the same way it always did. Desmond rose to his feet, blinking and pinching his temples, the old signals that Charlie had learned to watch out for. Charlie jumped from the sofa too, his eyes bright with alarm.

"Des?" he stammered. "Des, what is it?"

Desmond shook his head. "It…it's nothing, Charlie. Sit down."

Charlie swallowed, putting on a brave face, while his fingers twitched by his sides. "You had one of your flashes again, didn't you?"

Desmond sighed, elaborately. "Aye…I did."

Charlie knew that Desmond was lying. It was understood this part was a lie. But that wasn't the point. The point was they needed to go through their old ritual again. They still needed to find their own resolution.

Charlie took a breath, looking Desmond coolly in the eye.

"What was it this time?" he asked.

Desmond shook his head. "I can't tell you."

Charlie nodded respectfully. They were both such bad actors, but they had been through the motions enough times for this to feel natural.

"Don't worry," said Desmond, clasping hold of Charlie's shoulder. "Nothing bad is going to happen. I'm going to change it." He squeezed Charlie's arm, his voice becoming stern. "But Charlie…I need you to do _everything_ I say. Understand?"

Charlie flushed, overwhelmed, but trusting.

"Tell me what to do, Des," he whispered back.

"Sit down," Desmond instructed. "_Don't move._"

Desmond pulled the wooden chair away from his desk and pushed Charlie down into its seat. The chair was old and uncomfortable, but Desmond liked the solidness of it. Charlie's fingers gripped its arms as though Desmond had just strapped him into a rollercoaster ride. The last time that Desmond had told Charlie to sit still he hadn't been able to stand it. He had took to his feet and started tearing around the house in a panic; bumping into things, searching for a way out. Desmond had been forced to tie him to the chair until Charlie had settled down.

Desmond knew that Charlie still remembered that long night sitting in the station with Bonnie and Greta. But this was different. Charlie knew that Desmond wouldn't hit him. He knew Desmond would cut him loose again. It felt _so bloody good_ that they had control over themselves now. Desmond decided he wouldn't need to use any restraints this time. Charlie was stronger now. He was disciplined. He would sit still. He would trust that Desmond was handling the situation.

With Charlie now sedentary, Desmond set about taking all of the necessary precautions. He checked the locks on the doors and the latches on the windows. He had to make the house secure so that no men with guns or bombs or eye patches could get to them. He drew the curtains too, throwing the drapes over the universe that lay outside; the universe that they no longer trusted.

After he had seen to the locks, Desmond dealt with the sharp objects. Anything that could cut, stab or impale. Inanimate as they were, these objects had to be packed safely away in Desmond's cabinets. He knew only too well that the universe could twist the laws of physics in order to attack them. Desmond wasn't taking any chances. He shuddered inwardly as he ran his finger along the flat side of his scissor blades. He knew Charlie was more vulnerable to these fateful daggers than he was, but Desmond was the one who had carried those bloody spectacles around in his mind. None of his visions had come to pass. Desmond had changed them all and it was over now. But still he hid the scissors away in his drawer.

Desmond took a torch and went for the fuse box next. He shut off the power, plunging the house into darkness. Desmond had noticed in recent months how reluctant Charlie was to touch anything electrical; maybe fearing that its current would leap from the switch and surge through his body like a bolt of lightning. He only played an acoustic guitar these days. He never stood too close to the microphone.

"Des…?" Charlie's voice in the living room; he must be getting antsy now. "What are you doing, Des? I can't see a bloody thing!"

The darkness was unnerving for Desmond too. But it was safer. It was powerless. Desmond needed this. He needed to take the universe apart. He needed to deconstruct its many and varied weapons. Desmond wanted to shut it all down so that he could regain control over it. He needed to disarm it so Charlie could feel safe again. They needed to be sure they had beaten it. But yes, it was dark in the house now. Dark and close like the Looking Glass station, like the deepest places of the ocean. But they weren't trapped on that bloody island any more.

"Des, why'd you kill the lights?" Charlie called again. "I can't see bugger all in here! What are you playing at, you sly bastard!"

Desmond hissed through his teeth. He doubted he could ever teach Charlie the virtue of patience or teach him when he should shut the hell up. He grabbed a thin black scarf from the closet and marched back into the living room. Charlie was still sitting in the chair, his hands gripping its arms, his feet pressed firmly to the floor. He hadn't moved a muscle, though his whole body was tensed and staining. His lips were parted and his eyes wide as he waited on Desmond's next instruction.

Charlie gasped as Desmond stooped and tied the scarf around his head, covering his eyes. Desmond made sure the knot was tight, that it wasn't going to slip. Charlie didn't struggle or protest against the blindfold. He bit down hard on his lip, fidgeting with anticipation. Desmond crouched before the chair, taking him by the hand.

"You're not afraid of the dark, Charlie," Desmond reminded him, squeezing Charlie's fingers in his palm. "You're not afraid of anything..."

Desmond stroked his thumb over the stretch of black cloth. He realised that he wasn't scared of the dark either, but Charlie's eyes still frightened him. There was too much trust, too much loyalty, too much expectation in those clear blue eyes. Desmond was under enough pressure trying to control the wills of universe. It rattled his nerves to have Charlie looking at him, depending on him, especially when Charlie had always been the trickiest element in the universe for Desmond to secure. Yes, Charlie really gave the words _high maintenance_ a whole new meaning.

Desmond cupped the back of Charlie's head and kissed him possessively on the mouth. They never kissed like this in public or in the cold light of day. They only shared kisses in the softness of night time when their lips were moist with longing. Desmond ran his tongue over Charlie's teeth, before breaking away and pulling Charlie to his feet. Desmond led them out of the lounge, towards the stairs. Charlie pawed blindly at the walls with his free hand. He tugged Desmond to a halt.

"Now what?!" Charlie demanded. "What's next, Des?"

Charlie was flushing with indignation. He didn't like it when Desmond knew what was coming and he didn't. It always made Charlie mutinous. This could be a problem at times, considering that they didn't have a safe word. Desmond had tried to get Charlie to choose one, but he had stubbornly refused. Charlie thought safe words were for wimps. They had their own special understanding. If Desmond did something wrong, if he crossed a line that his lover wasn't comfortable with, then Charlie would punch him. Which was fine; Charlie didn't hit hard – at least not when he lacked a blunt wooden object to swing at him. Desmond could take a whack to the jaw, no bother. When it came from Charlie he usually felt like he deserved it.

"We're going upstairs, Charlie," Desmond explained.

"Where upstairs? You mean the bedroom?"

Desmond squeezed his hand again. No, not the bedroom. They already knew that the bedroom was safe. They had conquered that little pocket of the universe before. In the last few months they had also claimed victory over the couch, the kitchen floor and the dining room table. They were going to try something new this time. They were going to face up to the last of their enemies.

"Do you trust me, brother?" asked Desmond.

Charlie nodded, placing his foot on the stairs. He knew where Desmond was leading him. Even with the power off; the doors locked and the sharp things hidden away; there was still one more predator lurking in the house. There was still the _water_ running in the pipes and the faucets of the house…

They climbed the stairs to the bathroom.

* * *

Desmond left his torch upended on the window sill and stripped them both naked in its dim yellow light. He crouched at Charlie's feet, removing his shoes so he could take off his jeans. Charlie was shaky on his legs, his hand clinging to the brim of the sink. He still had no confidence with his balance.

"Let go of the sink, Charlie," Desmond ordered. "You're not going to fall."

Charlie muttered a curse. He was still blindfolded, so he raised both arms to steady himself. Desmond placed a hand to his hip for further support. Charlie was clumsy, they both knew this. He had two left feet and no coordination. But it wasn't a serious problem. Charlie wasn't going to slip and break his neck. His bones weren't brittle. His body wasn't made of glass. The flashes had him believing that his spine was as fragile as a twig. But it wasn't true. Charlie was strong. Desmond knew he was strong. He needed to get over this fear of gravity.

Once they were both undressed, Desmond took Charlie firmly by wrist and pulled him into the shower cubical. Charlie was in the habit of taking very hurried showers. He always left the door open, making big puddles on the bathroom floor. But Desmond wanted to take his time. He slid the glass door closed behind them. Charlie lifted his hands to touch the translucent walls. He gasped as Desmond turned on the shower and he felt the cool water spraying down on him from above. His skin was already raised in goosebumps. Desmond had used his shirt to block the drain and his trousers to line the edges of the shower basin, soaking up the leaks. Soon the water was lapping over their feet. He knew that Charlie could feel it rising. But it was okay. Desmond wasn't going to let it get too high. They could open the door any time they liked. And Charlie wasn't alone this time. Desmond was in here with him; he was in control of the water that was raining down over them.

Desmond filled his palms with shower gel, soaping up his hands and reaching into Charlie's thick blonde hair. He hoped the smell would remind Charlie of where they were and more importantly where they _weren't_. The bubbles slid in thin white steams over Charlie's shoulders. His blindfold was drenched now and weighing heavy over the bridge of his nose. Beneath the blindfold Charlie was slowly beginning to smile. His hands left the walls and reached down mischievously, one hand seizing Desmond's cock and the other cupping his balls. Desmond felt his knees weaken and his pulse race at the touch. Those quick musician's fingers knew exactly where to press and tease. But no; he couldn't lose control now. He couldn't let Charlie use his hands. If Charlie had his hands free then he might use them to shut Desmond out, lock himself in, let himself drown. He captured Charlie's wrists, raising them high above his head, before slamming him back against the cubicle wall.

Desmond pressed his hips against Charlie's stomach, locking him in place. He dipped his head to Charlie's shoulder, tonguing at his neck, his teeth nipping his skin. Charlie moaned, his head arching back, his knuckles scraping against the glass. Their hands were clasped together now, palm to palm. Charlie wasn't trapped on the other side of a door this time; unreachable, underwater, _drowning_. Desmond wasn't going to have to hold his breath while he dragged Charlie's limp body through a broken window. He wasn't going to have to swim them both back to the moon pool to perform frantic CPR on the station deck. He wasn't going to be crying and screaming at Charlie not to leave him. They were together now. They were together and it was over. The flashes had stopped and Charlie was alive. But there was a part of them that was still fighting it. There was no way of forgetting. There were only ways of coping.

"Fuck me, Des…" Charlie rasped into his ear. "Fuck me before the water gets too high. _Please_. I can feel it rising. It can feel it…"

The water was still running tepid. It was pooling around their ankles and creeping up their shins. Desmond wouldn't make Charlie wait any longer. They were both wary of how time could slip away from them. Desmond spun Charlie around, pressing a soapy finger between his cheeks; slowly teasing him open. Charlie hissed through his teeth, not with discomfort, but impatience. He slammed Desmond's leg with the back of his heel to let him know that he didn't want any of this gentleness or caution. Desmond got the message. He spread Charlie's buttocks wide and pressed the tip of his cock to his entrance, bending his knees to account for their difference in height. Then, coiling one arm around Charlie's chest and wrapping his other hand around his dick, Desmond pushed all the way inside him.

Charlie let out a sharp gasp, arching his spine and bracing himself against the cubical walls. His breath fogged up the glass before them with steamy white clouds. The knot of his blindfold was ballooning with water now and as Desmond increased the pace of his thrusts, the black scarf slipped from Charlie's head and flopped around his neck. But Charlie still kept his eyes pinched closed. He allowed Desmond overpower him, to master him; his protector, his preserver, his guide. Desmond forced Charlie to his tiptoes, hugging him fiercely to his chest. This time last year he had almost lost him, but now Charlie's heart was pounding against his arm. His skin was hot and slick as it slapped against his chest. Desmond fucked him deep; they were still fucking the universe together. They were fucking destiny and the island all the way. They were breaking free.

Charlie gave a feathery moan as his cock pulsed in Desmond's hands, shooting his load against the glass in thick white spurts. Desmond gathered Charlie up in his arms, keeping his knees from buckling. With one more thrust he came inside him, the tip of his cock twitching close to Charlie's prostate. Desmond shuddered against Charlie's back. He tried to say Charlie's name but could only manage incoherent noises. Desmond squeezed his lover to his chest while Charlie covered his knuckles with his own hands. The universe melted around them. It dissolved in the water. It washed away.

Desmond withdrew slowly as Charlie sighed and went limp against his torso. Utterly spent, they sank down into the cool shallow bath that they had created in the shower's base. The water was still trickling from above as Charlie lay back between Desmond's splayed thighs, his head resting comfortably against the crook of his neck. Desmond's hands stroked the tiny water droplets away from his arms.

Charlie laughed, sticking out his tongue and tasting the rain.

* * *

A few minutes later, the lights were back on in the house and they were lying naked and cosy in Desmond's bed. It was still early in the evening, but they were content to just laze around. Desmond took a ridiculous amount of pleasure in ruffling Charlie's hair dry with his towel while Charlie squirmed beneath him, telling him to _'bugger off'_. Desmond chuckled and went down to the kitchen to make them both a mug of hot chocolate floated with marshmallows. When he returned to the bedroom Charlie was flicking the bedside lamp on and off; proving to himself that he wasn't afraid of its current. Desmond shook his head. He moved the lamp out of reach and demanded that Charlie stop with his OCD glitches. They were going to have a go at being normal for the rest of the evening.

Desmond selected a volume of Dylan Thomas poems from his book shelf while Charlie rolled over and fiddled with the dials of the radio. They had a brief squabble over which station to tune into, which Charlie won, of course. He was not at all submissive when it came to music. Charlie lay on his back, singing _'Purple Rain' _at the ceiling in his airy falsetto voice while Desmond rolled his eyes and tried to read. After the song was finished, Charlie tucked himself under Desmond's arm, nestling against his chest. Desmond felt the pulse in Charlie's wrists; the breath on his skin, the warmth of his body. Charlie raised his head and whispered into his ear.

"So much for fate, Des…"

_The End_


End file.
